


Comfort of the Lion's Teeth

by Twisted_Silver



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Blood Play, Knife Play, M/M, Other, Overstimulation kink, Self Harm, Trugger warnings for:, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, if anything else needs tagged just let me know, knifehands play, monster fucking, now thats thats out of the way, theres really not a whole lot else going on here tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Silver/pseuds/Twisted_Silver
Summary: Michael offers to help Jon work through some stuff.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Comfort of the Lion's Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar that's because it was originally published as part of "How to Fall" but its not going to make the cut for the rewrite of that so I'm posting it on its own.

Eventually Michael ended up back in the Archives. He hadn’t seen It come in, It was just sitting across from him when he looked up. It managed to somehow look both draped across and folded into the chair. He jumped, startled by Its sudden presence, and It smiled. 

“Hello Archivist.” Its hair was braided - so he’d been right about that - but a handful of cascading ringlets were still loose, framing a face that had decided to be, and be human. Jon was struck by the fact that It was actually rather attractive, aesthetically speaking. He tried to push the thought from his mind. He never thought he’d think of a monster as pretty, but supposed there was a first time for everything. It had such beautiful eyes… 

“Archivist,” Its voice interrupted his thoughts and pulled him back to reality. 

Jon remembered that with this creature  _ getting lost in Its eyes  _ was a distinct, literal possibility. He looked away from It and cleared his throat, wondering how many innocent people had fallen prey to that. 

“Innocent is such an… interesting concept Archivist. Tell me, was the chicken curry you had for lunch innocent?” It had a point, but he wasn't in the mood for that conversation. 

“Did you want something?” This close he could definitely see the creature shiver. Its edges seemed to get fuzzy for a second. 

“I accept your apology.” It said simply. 

“Oh,” he’d nearly forgotten about that. “Well, that’s good, thank you.” 

It just stared at him, looking almost amused, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “You seem to like Melanie,” Oh god Melanie, was she okay? Had It taken her? 

As if It could read his thoughts, he wasn’t positive It couldn’t, It smiled. “She is safe, Archivist.”   
“Oh thank god.” He sighed with relief. 

“She told me we should start a club, for people personally victimized by the Archivist.” It hummed. “I reminded her I am not  _ people  _ but she said that didn’t matter. I think I like her. It has been… a long time since I had a friend.” It spoke slowly, like it took It a good deal of effort to put Its thoughts into words. 

Jon wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s nice,” he offered after a moment. “I hope this ah, club, doesn’t involve hurting me? I’m not sure Melanie would be opposed to that, honestly.” He decided it must be the compulsion that caused the creature to react strangely to his questions. 

“I won’t hurt you Archivist. Unless you want me to,” It purred, giving him a look. 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ His face flushed a dark red and he fumbled for words, but his brain appeared to have vacated the premises. Michael smiled at him.

“I’ll leave you to your work, Archivist.” It cooed and rose from the chair, slipping back through Its door. But not before giving Jon another look. 

Jon had a hard time focusing the rest of the day. He managed to get through one or two statements before deciding to just call it a day. On his way out he stopped to make sure Melanie really was alive and well and on this plane of existence. When he was satisfied the creature had been telling the truth he walked back to his flat. Taking the Tube would have been faster, but he had no desire to be underground again at any point in the near future. Besides, maybe the cool, evening air would help calm his thoughts. 

It didn’t really, and by the time he set his keys on his kitchen counter all he had really managed to do was make himself cold. He couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. It had definitely flirted with him, right? He was certain It knew the implications of what It had said, and how. How would that even work, he wondered as he pulled his still-cold-in-places leftovers from the microwave and sat in front of the tv. Michael seemed far too… sharp. For anything he could imagine to work between them. He remembered how It had said  _ unless you want me to _ , and something else struck him. He thought guiltily of the blade on his nightstand. Did It know? 

He abandoned his leftovers on the coffee table, having not even touched them, and trudged towards his bathroom. A hot shower should set him right again. As the water came up to temperature and filled the little room with steam, he stripped down and threw his clothes in the laundry bin. Avoiding his reflection, Jon stepped into the scalding spray of water. It was far too hot, but he didn’t mind. His mind went blank under the hot water. Eventually he got around to washing his hair and skin. Being clean did feel better at least. 

When he finally got out it was like stepping into a sauna. He didn’t mind that either. At least it made him harder to see. He was sick to death of being watched all the time, Jon thought as he wrapped the already damp towel around his hips. Maybe he would light some candles and relax in bed with one of the many books he kept telling himself he was going to read. Maybe he’d even have a smoke, if he felt like it. Really just take the night for himself, do something enjoyable for a change. Didn’t he deserve a break from saving the world all the damn time, he thought as he crossed the hall to his bedroom. Opening the door made him stop dead in his tracks though. Michael was sitting on his bed. He blinked a few times, confused. Why was Michael sitting on his bed? The creature was flipping through one of his books, careful not to cut through the pages. 

“Hello Archivist,” It smiled when It noticed him. 

“You’re on my bed,” He said dumbly, still not fully processing what he was seeing. It looked at him and all at once he remembered he was still dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. 

“It would appear that way, yes.” It said, setting the book back down and turning to face him properly. Its hair was no longer pulled back into a braid, instead haloing its head. 

“Um,” Jon tried to think of some way to cover himself. “Why?”

It tilted Its head curiously. “I’m not entirely sure. My door appeared here, and I thought it might be interesting.” 

“Well, um, can you leave? I’m a bit… indisposed.” He could feel Its eyes roaming over him, and willed the fluttering thing in his stomach to still. 

“I see that,” It hummed, meeting his eyes. 

This was it. After everything he’d been through in the last three years,  _ this _ was how he was going to die. Nake in his flat, in front of a monster, of embarrassment. Michael seemed content, at least, to let him go dry off and get dressed, so he did. Half of him hoped the creature would be gone when he returned. The other half… he didn’t want to think about it. It was still there, just his luck, when he returned in a pair of flannel sleep pants. His hair was still damp and he had also put his glasses back on. If Michael was going to insist on staying he may as well be able to see It properly. 

It seemed to have abandoned rifling through his books, and instead it was holding the little paring knife he kept on the nightstand, examining it curiously. The color drained from his face, and It looked up at him. 

“What’s this? It's far too small to be useful for defense.” 

“I um, it’s” He stammered. Michael watched him and he eventually gave up trying to find an excuse. “I use it on myself.” He said quietly, sitting next to the creature. 

“I thought humans tried to avoid pain?” Its tone wasn’t judgemental or sarcastic, just curious. That was almost worse. 

“Well usually, but…” He rubbed his face. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Try.” It set the knife down and looked at him.

“Well. It’s, it’s about control I suppose. Everything else has had its turn to cover me in scars. And when I see them all I can see is how many times I’ve failed. Everything that I’ve fucked up to get to this point. If I cover them with other scars, it's… easier. To deal with, I mean. I can look at those at least and know that I was in control. Total control. And I don’t have to remember hiding from worms or spending two months with -” Jon choked up, and took a deep breath before continuing. “Leaving scars on myself helps drown out the memories and fear of all the other ones. The pain and the marks.” He didn’t look at Michael. 

“So it makes you feel better?” 

“More or less.” There was a long silence and Jon began to shift uncomfortably where he was sitting. 

“Have you ever had anyone help you?” It asked at last. 

The question took him aback. He had never even thought about telling someone else about his self harm, much less having someone help him do it. “I’ve never considered it.” He said after a while. He could tell Michael was looking at him but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Its eyes. He was beginning to entertain a very dangerous,  _ very stupid _ line of thought. “It has been getting harder.” He spoke slowly, fully aware of the implications. “Lately my skin just heals without leaving a mark.”

“Would you like assistance?” Jon looked at the creature. This was an incredibly, unfathomably stupid idea, perhaps one of the most stupid ideas he had ever had. The thing had every power to kill him if he agreed. It really had every power to kill him regardless, and so far It had just saved his life, only stabbing him once. But to just, lay down and let It hurt him however It pleased? Saying yes to this would effectively be putting his head in the lion’s jaws and asking it nicely to not bite down too hard. 

“How do I know you won’t kill me, and that you’ll stop when I tell you too?” He hadn’t said no. 

“You don’t.” It said simply. “But I don’t think I want to kill you. I feel like I would have done that already if I did.” Jon was looking at a predator and he was about to let it maul him. He truly was absolutely mad. 

“Okay.” He breathed. He was almost certainly going to regret this. 

Jon was lying on his stomach on his bed, using his folded arms as a pillow. Michael was sat on the back of his thighs, and he tried not to think about the fact that It was straddling him. It felt strange. The creature was far lighter than It should have been, based on Its proportions. Another one if Its lies then, he thought. It also wasn’t warm like a person would have been. All in all, it just felt like a bit of pressure. Despite It not being nearly heavy enough to cut off circulation, Jon still felt pins and needles spreading through his legs. He tried not to think about what that might mean for his long term health. 

“You’re afraid,” It hummed. 

“Yes well, you’re going to hurt me.” He responded dryly. 

“You asked me too.”

“Still. I’m not exactly in safe hands, am I?” The creature laughed and he could feel It rest Its razor sharp fingertips on his shoulder blade. 

“Count of three?” 

“Alright,” He nodded. 

“One,” He felt something almost like a tickle down his skin, and then his back exploded into agony. Jon gasped sharply. He could smell the heavy scent of blood in the air. 

“You said on three.” He gritted out, struggling to breath through the pain. 

“I lied.” It seemed distracted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Archivist bleed before.” 

“Well you were in the minority then.” He said with as much irritation as he could manage. His gasping diminished the effect though. The pain was fading at least, becoming more bearable as his body tried to heal itself. 

“It's very pretty.” Jon blushed at that. “I think it will scar,” It said, gently prodding at one of the lines, sparking fresh pain and drawing a quiet hiss from him. “Though, I can try again if you’d like.” 

“Not,” He took a deep breath. “Not tonight. Thank you.” It climbed off of him, and he was glad he couldn’t see It from that angle, sure whatever motion it made would have been unpleasant to watch. 

“Alright,” Michael hummed softly. “Sleep well Archivist.” He was about to say something about having a name when It kissed his cheek. In an instant his face flushed dark red and his mind went blank. By the time he regained the ability to speak, Michael was gone.

* * *

Jon had been having Michael come around for a while. The creature would show up at his flat, sometimes on Its own, sometimes because he called for It. They had gotten to the point of meeting a couple of times a week or more. He wasn’t sure when it had shifted from a coping mechanism to… well. They had developed something of a routine, which Jon took a perverted type of comfort in. That night had started much the same as any of the others. He was lying on his stomach in pajama pants, telling himself that the knot forming in his stomach as Michael settled Its too-little weight on him was just fear. 

The creature stared at his back, he had noticed It had begun drawing something on him a few  _ visits  _ ago. That really ought to concern him more than it did. 

“How does it look?” Jon could have seen it if he tried, but he doubted he’d have been able to make any sense of it. 

“It’s pretty,” Michael hummed, Its fingers ghosting over the thin scars. That made his skin tingle and he suppressed a shiver. 

“You think?”

“Well, beauty is… subjective. But I think it suits you.” He made an amused sound at that, then they lapsed into comfortable silence.

It was broken by the small hiss of pain Jon let out when Michael ran Its finger across the small of his back. The creature watched as the thin line slowly turned red and started welling up with blood. Jon wondered what Elias would say to him if he could. If nothing, he was sure the man would be displeased at the amount of time he’d been spending with the Distortion. Not that he particularly cared what Elias thought about him, if he approved of Jon’s actions they probably weren’t the right ones. His thoughts were interrupted when Michael drew another line on him, Its fingers moving agonizingly slowly across his skin. The moan that escaped him was  _ not  _ a sound of pain, and he turned red. 

“That noise was new,” Micheal said thoughtfully, causing him to blush more. It went back to cutting him in Its usual way. 

After a while Jon relaxed, hoping - rather stupidly - that It had forgotten or lost interest. That illusion was shattered when It dragged Its fingers across the soft flesh of his hip. The sound he made before he could cover his mouth was obscene, and he buried his face in his arms, absolutely mortified. He hadn’t so much as thought of sex in something close to ten years and now of all times, with a monster carving things into his back, was when his body decided to show interest again. There had to be something deeply wrong with him. 

“What an interesting reaction.” It said, with something in Its voice he couldn’t place. “You are a _ fascinating  _ creature Archivist.” Jon didn’t realize it was possible to be more mortified, but here he was. What did the creature even know about sex? Did the creature even know about sex? “I’ve heard of humans  _ enjoying _ these kinds of activities, but I hadn’t thought you the adventurous sort.” It spoke with a detached air that somehow made everything that was happening so much worse. 

He said nothing, and hoped against all logic that It would drop the subject, maybe even leave. 

It did not do either of those things. “I’ve never done it myself, but I could try if you like.” It said thoughtfully, as if It were talking about helping fix something and not offering to have sex with him. A monster was offering to have sex with him. The monster he let hurt him on a regular basis, was offering to have sex with him. What had his life come to. 

“What, I, a-are your parts even compatible?” He stammered out. How he was continuing to not say no to the creatures proposals was beyond him. It was gloriously stupid to even entertain the idea of what It was suggesting. Then again, it was gloriously stupid to give It unfettered access to his home, and to let It draw on his skin in scar tissue, and really what was one more stick for the pyre? Michael at least seemed interested in his wants, which was far more than could be said for any of the other monsters in his life. And he knew that It was considered conventionally attractive when It was playing at being human, and he did find It pretty in a predatory kind of way, all things considered he could definitely do worse. Jon had to stop that line of thinking, did he really just tell himself he could do worse than sleeping with a monster with knives for hands? 

It laughed, the sound didn’t hurt his head anymore but it made the new scars on his back throb. “What a… delightfully misguided question Archivist. My  _ parts _ , as you put it, are whatever I decide they are.” This close Jon could hear the distorted echo that characterized Its laughter faintly in each word and he shivered. 

He was on his back now, looking up at the thing with Its predator’s grin, though he had no memory of moving. “To be clear,” he started, voice tinged with uncertainty. 

“I would like to fuck you, Archivist. If you’ll have me.” Again the thoughtful way It spoke was completely at odds with what It said, and Its nonchalance did nothing to quiet Jon’s nerves. 

“And you’ll stop if I ask?”

“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t. It is my understanding that these things are only fun so long as all parties agree to them.” Where It was getting this information was completely beyond him, but that was a question for another time. 

“I need your word Michael, I need you to promise me.”

“I promise, insofar as I am capable of such things, that I will stop if you ask. Is that sufficient?” It blinked slowly at him. 

“Yes,” his mouth was dry, anticipation or fear, he didn’t know, and he nodded. “Yes.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to do next, having no idea how much Michael knew about sex. It seemed content to stare at him, which really wouldn’t do at all, so he reached for it uncertainly. 

“C’mere,” he mumbled, pulling gently on Its shoulder, and It shifted to comply. “Uh, you close your eyes for this part.” It gave him a curious look, but closed Its eyes. He closed his own eyes and tilted his head, kissing It softly. It didn’t do anything at first, and he was worried that this wasn’t going to work. But then It pressed back into the kiss, seeming to follow his lead. Putting aside his nerves was difficult, especially when Michael didn’t seem particularly interested in what was going on, but he did his best and let his tongue swipe across Its bottom lip. 

The creature parted Its lips, there really should have been breath, Jon thought, and let him slip his tongue into Its mouth. Its tongue wasn’t right. It was far too long, and pointed - like the rest of It - but when It finally started to get the picture and engage with him, he found It was surprisingly skilled for something that had presumably never kissed before. It made his mouth burn and tingle in a way that should have been unpleasant but was actually anything but. He was almost embarrassed by how quickly It managed to get him worked up with Its mouth alone. He clung to whatever passed for the creature’s shoulders at the moment and moaned softly into Its mouth as It kissed him more roughly, nipping at his bottom lip with sharp teeth. 

“Like that?” It asked softly against his lips, and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said a little breathlessly, he wasn’t sure what part of kissing It had made it difficult to form words. “That’s good.”

“I believe I am beginning to understand the appeal,” It hummed. “But there is more, yes?”

“Uh, yes.” He blushed, the only silver lining of having to explain what to do to the creature was that It at least couldn’t judge him for his own inexperience. It was watching him, clearly waiting for more instructions, and he had to cover his face before he died of embarrassment. “You um,” he faltered. 

“Is something wrong Archivist?” 

“It’s difficult to explain,” He managed, still covering his face. 

It gave him a doubtful look. “It never looked complex,” 

“Just um, just try what you’ve seen then, and I’ll stop you if it's bad.” He was aware this might end badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to try explain how to have sex to the monster in his bed. 

It kissed him again, and then there was something between his legs - when had he taken his pants off - and for a moment the image of Michael’s razor sharp fingers filled his mind and fear seized him. The thing that pressed into him though, was mercifully blunt, and entirely unlike a human dick. Jon let out a low whine against Its lips. Were those lips? The intrusion should have hurt, it was too big and opening him up too fast and it had been too long since he had done this. Instead he just felt impossibly full and like there was static burning under his skin and in his stomach. When Michael started moving, slow at first, Jon couldn’t help but cry out. 

“That’s a good sound, yes?” It still sounded way too composed, but It at least seemed to get the gist of what he wanted.

“Y-yes, keep going like that.” He gripped the sheets with the arm that wasn’t covering his face. 

Very carefully, Its sharp fingers closed around his wrist and pulled it away from his face. “I would like to see you, Archivist.” 

He settled for screwing his eyes shut, blushing darkly under Its gaze. There was so much happening, and it wasn’t long before his mind gave up on trying to understand the onslaught of sensation and he just  _ felt _ instead. He could vaguely hear himself babbling, he may honestly have been crying. For all his experimentation in college, nothing had ever felt quite this good. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to come or to just stay like that forever. The thing inside him hit a bundle of nerves, it was ribbed now, and he choked out something between a sob and a moan. Michael was murmuring praises in his ear, spiralling words he couldn’t understand; but that they were for him and they were praises. How It managed to do so when Its tongue seemed to be in his mouth was a question for a time when the ability to think had returned to him. 

Michael watched the Archivist come undone underneath It. The sight was really incredible. The sensations weren’t bad either, but seeing the man so far from composure at Its hands was something It wanted to savour. Carefully It brushed tears from his cheek with Its thumb. The man’s face was flushed and tear stained and his eyes were unfocused. Whimpers spilled from his lips as he clung to It, and they were such sweet sounds. The creature's hand was resting on his belly, and It slowly raked Its knife-sharp fingers over the skin there. That was all it took to push him, gasping and crying for It, over the edge. 

Jon made a weak noise of protest when It didn’t stop after he’d come, and opened his eyes to see It licking blood - his blood - from Its fingers. His dick made a valiant effort at getting hard again, but every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. 

“Wh-what?” He swallowed, and then rasped, “that, that’s usually the end of it Michael.”

“Just a little bit more Archivist,” Its voice was soothing but there was blood on Its lips. 

When had forming words become so difficult? “I-I can’t,” It would know he was lying. 

“Shh,” It stroked his cheek. “You can. I quite like seeing you like this. MY perfect little Archivist. Taking everything so prettily.” Its other hand tangled in his hair comfortingly. What was holding his hip then? 

Regardless, Jon pressed into the touch. “Just, j-just one more?” 

“Just one,” It responded, and kissed him sweetly. 

“I, I can do one more.” He managed after a moment. He could tell the creature to stop if he needed to. 

“So good,” Michael hummed, and continued to shower him in praises. 

Whatever appendage was inside him seemed to squirm, filling him in a way that didn’t certainly didn’t obey the laws of physics. Michael's hands were all over him. They left shallow stinging cuts and pins and needles as they travelled over his skin. He tried to press into the touch as much as he recoiled from it. His head was swimming with swirling shapes and colors, and writhing spirals tickled his face where Michael’s hair touched his skin. Jon wasn’t new to overstimulation, both the good and bad kinds, but everything he had experienced up to this point paled in comparison. He was beginning to worry that he may have gone in out of his depth, and that his mind might actually break. 

By the end of his second orgasm he was trembling violently and crying. Michael pulled him close, Its body settling into a mostly static shape, and held him close until he calmed down. He held onto It like a lifeline, hiccuping quietly. “Stay.” He mumbled, face buried in Its chest. 

“Of course Archivist,” It crooned gently, pulling a blanket over them. Jon was in clean, warm pajamas now, and he didn’t bother trying to figure out when that had happened, opting instead to cuddle closer to the monster in his bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, and instead of other people’s nightmares he dreamt of spirals. 

It was late afternoon when he finally woke. All of his muscles were sore and he desperately wanted water. Blearily, he looked around, and saw Michael sitting on his bed. 

“Good morning sleepy head.” It held a bottle of water out to him. 

He sat up with a miserable groan and took the bottle, taking a long drink. The cool water soothed his throat. “What time is it?” He croaked and then flinched at the sound of his ruined voice. 

“According to your appliances, around five pm. But time doesn’t really mean anything to me so you might want to verify that.” It smiled at him. 

He gave It a suitably derisive look and then squinted at the nightstand for his watch. Where his glasses had ended up the night before he’d work out later. It was closer to six. He groaned again. 

“How do you feel?” Michael asked pleasantly. 

“Like I’ve been hit by a train.” Jon responded, leaning back into his pillows. More sleep sounded lovely. 

“You do sound a bit awful.” 

If looks could kill. It smiled innocently at him. The creature had apparently decided to play human for the time being, so the smile at least obeyed the laws of physics, which was something. It had Its hair pulled back again and some part of Jon remembered that It was pretty. He sighed and closed his eyes. Something was nagging at him but he couldn’t place what it was. 

“Back to bed then?” 

He groaned in response.

“Shall I tell the Institute that you’ll be having another sick day?” 

His eyes shot open. The Institute. He had managed to sleep through an entire day of work. 

“Don’t look so panicked Archivist,” It laughed. “I informed them you wouldn’t be coming in this morning.”

“Michael,” he spoke slowly, fighting the horror that was rising in his throat. “What exactly did you tell them?”

It scoffed. “Not the truth, if that’s what you’re so worked up about.” Jon visibly relaxed. “I told them you’d come down with the flu. Melanie shrugged, the other one didn’t believe me.” 

“The other one?”

“Names are difficult, Archivist. Not the hunter” 

“Basira?” Michael shrugged. 

“She wore a scarf, made some very amusing threats about what would happen if you didn’t return to the Archives in one piece.” 

“Basira.” Jon sighed and rubbed his face. With how dreadful he felt he could probably pass off a bout of flu. 

The hunger for a statement was starting to form again. Seriously? It had hardly been three days since the last one he’d read. If it kept up like this it was going to become a problem soon. A thought popped into his mind. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but what was the worst that could happen? Well, the creature could kill him, but that wasn’t exactly a new threat. Or one that he necessarily thought was entirely bad, after all the world could use one less monster. Still, if Beholding was going to start getting pushy it was worth a shot. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“The lack of permission has never stopped you before.” It smiled. 

He gathered all the compulsion he could muster and poured it into the question. “Why do you keep helping me?” 

The creature made a noise like a little gasp and Jon could see Its eyelids flutter. For a moment Its edges seemed to blur. “Oh. That feels… actually quite nice, Archivist.” It closed Its eyes. “Because I’ve found that I don’t like the others touching you. I thought I might like to watch you die, but each time one of  _ them  _ touches you I find it’s actually very upsetting.” It looked at him. 

He sat up more, unsure if it was the itch to feed his patron or his own curiosity that urged him to push further. “Why don’t you like it?” 

Michael shivered again. “They don’t deserve to touch you.” Its voice sounded breathier, almost imperceptibly so, but he noticed. 

“And you do?” 

“Yes.” It was trembling steadily now, and when It looked at him Its eyes seemed darker. “Archivist if you plan to keep that up -” 

“Come here.” He wasn’t sure if he could compel without actually asking a question, but the way the creature seemed to shudder was a good sign. It shifted and crawled across to the bed to settle in his lap. The movement was far from human and his lizard brain screamed at him to run away. Instead he rested his hands on whatever was pretending to be Its hips. Close up he could see the effect he was having on It more clearly. Its edges seemed less… solid. 

“How does it feel?” His voice was thick with compulsion now and Michael closed Its eyes, trembling more. 

“Like cold wind in my halls.” It murmured. “Shaking all the doors and windows and pictures at once.” The veneer of humanity was beginning to slip away from It, and it occurred to Jon that he’d never seen the thing without some pretense of it. 

Against his better judgement he continued. “Do you like it? Does it feel good?” It probably had every ability to lie to him still, hell It might have been lying, but it was hard to deny that the way It squirmed in his lap was an ego boost. It made a little sound and when It looked at him again the best way he could conceptualize Its expression was  _ aroused _ . It was similar to the expression It had worn the night before, but edged with something Jon fancied might have been need.

“It feels very good.” It purred. It was hard to tell where Its edges were. That should have made him afraid. 

Instead he came up with more questions. “Do you think Beholding deserves me?”

It made a sound that was nothing like a moan and buried Its face in the crook of his neck. “No.” The word was almost a hiss. 

“You want to keep me for yourself, don’t you?” He put more force into the question and was rewarded with another not-moan. 

“Y-ye-”

“Does Elias get angry when he tries to watch me and can’t because you’re here? Do you like that? Do you like it when he knows that he can’t touch me but you can?” 

It was practically writhing in his lap now, and he was certain he shouldn’t be turned on. When It spoke Its voice was a breathy whine that echoed in his skull. “Yessss.” He felt pinpricks of pain where It gripped his shoulders. 

“He’s watching right now isn’t he?” 

“T-trying,” It made a noise. “Trying to -” 

He kept going, not letting the creature speak. “Does he know that you’re marking me up? Trying to steal me away from him?” 

“N-not st-stealing,” It dug into his shoulders more. 

“Do you even know my name Michael?” 

“Not f-fair,” It might have been pouting but he doubted It had a face at the moment, with how other parts of It were flickering in and out of existence. “N-names are -” 

“Difficult?” 

It nodded against his shoulder and the movement shook the dizzying golden mass of Its hair. 

“Do you actually like me Michael?” He put as much force into the question as he could. 

It shuddered violently and he almost thought he might have hurt It. He felt blood running down his back. The sound It was making in his ear was not panting, because Michael did not breathe, but that was the only thing he could understand it as. “Very much,” It purred softly, shape resolving into something static. Mostly, the creature that It was did not deal in staticity. 

He tangled one of his hands in the writhing spirals of Its hair and pulled It down to kiss him, shivering at the feeling of them against his skin. It obliged, slipping Its tongue into his mouth. He was sure, as fractals swirled in his head, that whatever he had gotten himself into couldn’t end well. But at the moment, with Michael trailing Its fingers down his chest, he found he didn’t care. He would definitely be calling in sick tomorrow. 


End file.
